“No, no. We’ll have none of that. However, I hear there’s a nice restaurant a couple of towns away.”
“Okay.”
He paused. “Okay? In your language does that mean yes?”
I rolled my eyes. “Last I checked, my language is your language.”
“No one speaks like me.”
“You mean like you’re from the Middle Ages?”
His voice filled with a pompous lilt. “I prefer to think of myself as refined.”
I sighed blissfully. “If that’s what you want to think, then go for it. But yes, if I must formally answer your question, I would love to have dinner with you in a restaurant outside of Peachwood.”
“Great. I’ll touch base with you in a couple of days.”
“Talk to you then.”
We hung up. As I sat aimlessly smiling at absolutely nothing, Lady strolled in, took one look at me and said, “Was that your new boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“You could have fooled me. Sure seemed like it. Thought I heard you talking about a date.”
“I might have been.”
Lady pranced over to the couch and pawed at it for me to lift her onto a cushion. In case y’all didn’t know, Lady is a dachshund and her short little legs don’t let her get to many places on her own—at least not in the human world.
After I hoisted her up, Lady licked her lips. “Great. Clem, you just let me know when and where we’ll have dinner and I’ll be ready.”
I folded my arms and glared at her. “I think you’ll be sitting this one out.”
Lady pawed her nose. “You need me, Clem. You don’t have good luck with men. You need me to relay what you’re doing right and what you’re doing wrong. Your ovaries aren’t gonna last forever. If you’re not careful, they’ll shrivel up before you ever get the chance to reproduce.”
“Thank you,” I said sarcastically.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, totally clueless of my sarcasm.
I stretched my arm over my head and yawned. The room was chilly, and I grabbed a throw blanket, pulling it over my lap. Lady took the opportunity to cuddle with me.
As I started to flip through the channels, my phone rang again. I groaned when I saw the name on the screen.
“Who is it?” Lady asked.
“Dooley Hutto. Gosh, I hope something isn’t wrong with his barn.”
“I hope not, too. That man complains more than anything.”
I thumbed the phone to life. “Hey, Dooley,” I cooed. “How’re you doing?”
“Clem,” Dooley said by way of greeting. He always started every conversation by saying my name. And usually his conversations with me were about Dooley needing to gripe about something.
“How’s Dottie?” I asked.
“Dottie’s good. She’s gearing up for the apple-picking contest.”
Dooley Hutto owned a peach orchard that was pretty well-known, but he also had a slice of land that he called his apple orchard. It wasn’t nearly as big as the peach portion of the farm but was a pretty good size.
